Shadow Soul

by R. Michael Card

  Yes, there were many men to heal.

  He rose, at least now he had something to do, somewhere to direct his energy, even if he was still a little befuddled by the sudden disappearance of the enemy.

  “I need to help,” he said to Caerwyn and turned away to find the nearest injured man.

  17

  Barami hurried over to Caerwyn. Hildr wasn’t far behind him. He’d been fighting one of the attackers, a hardened warrior with twin axes. Barami thought he’d struck a killing blow, but the man had vanished with the others before hitting the ground. Barami had no clue what had happened, only that that had been one of the most terrifying fights of his life… and he’d fought misshapen monstrous krolls. That man throwing fire had been horrific to watch.

  “You’re here.” It was inane and obvious, but he couldn’t help himself. His mind was still muddled from the fight. He threw his arms around Caerwyn in a bear-hug, releasing her quickly. “It’s good to see you. I didn’t know what had happened to you out in the hills.”

  “I was coming to free you, but then we encountered those men sneaking through the hills and followed them. We’d hoped to help in the fight, but they were gone before we even arrived.”

  “You come into the home of those who could be an enemy to fight another enemy?” This from Hildr. “Brave.” The tall redheaded woman nodded to herself.

  “Take them!” This from a familiar commanding voice: Hildr’s father. “Throw down your weapons scoundrels!”

  And with that, they were suddenly surrounded by a very angry looking group of Dronnegir warriors.

  Barami sighed. He threw down his sword but turned to the clan’s leader. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself and turned to Hildr. “What’s your father’s name?” He was getting tired of thinking of the man as just the Dronnegir’s leader.

  It wasn’t Hildr who responded.

  “I am Anubjorn, Egir of the Dronnegir!” the man roared. “How dare you bring war to my people! You shall all die for this!”

  Die?

  Barami’s temper rose. Couldn’t the man see he and Jais had been helping them? He opened his mouth again, but was interrupted as Hildr spoke, stepping in front of Barami.

  “If you kill this man you must kill me as well!”

  It was good to know someone was on their side.

  Hildr addressed her father with all the fury Barami felt. “How dare you, father! Helped us and fought for us, these people did, and you sentence them to death? Where be your honor? Have you not eyes? Could you not see the enemies attacking all of us? That Barami and this friend were risking their lives for us?”

  Anubjorn’s face grew a bright red. Whether this was from being dressed down by his daughter, or being wrong, Barami couldn’t tell. The man sputtered and blustered for a long moment before finding words.

  “You cannot deny, my daughter, that these attackers arrived just after our… guests. That cannot be coincidence. Do you not think it so?” Barami noticed how the man spat out the word ‘guests’ as if it were foul tasting. “We are here for only one duty, daughter, and what be that?”

  Hildr didn’t back down. “To protect the Divine One. I know as well as any. But, by the sacred breath! When did that duty come before logic and sense?”That got her father even more enraged. The man’s face went another shade deeper of rage-red.

  But Hildr spoke before he could yell back at her. “Yes, the foes came soon after our guests, but see also how the others with Barami and Jais came on the heels of those foes. Why would they risk our wrath? They were safe, they had escaped. Why come and fight with us? Why run into our home if not to help? They did not disappear with the others, they are stuck here. They did not have to come!”

  “They seek to trick us! This attack is a ruse. The others vanish, and these others arrive that we might be tricked into trusting them. You know we cannot trust any outside the clan! You know we cannot falter on our oath!”

  Hildr began to speak, but it was her father’s turn to cut her off. “What would you have me do? We cannot do as they ask. We cannot take them to the Divine One, and we cannot let them go, for they know far too much and could tell many of our secrets. So, what do we do? If we do not kill them shall we keep them prisoner here for the rest of their lives, feeding them out of our own meager stock?”

  Barami could see the man’s logic. But it was flawed by the view that he and the others couldn’t be trusted. These people had lived so long thinking that everyone not of their clan was an enemy. He didn’t know what to do against that sort of ingrained thinking.

  “We can put them through the trial.” Hildr said evenly.

  The trial?

  Anubjorn glared at her. “That proves nothing!”

  “Now you spit on our ways? If the gods believe them worthy of our trust, they will survive the trial and prove their worth.”

  The man’s face lost a shade or two of red and he harrumphed. “Be it so. They will undergo the trial and then we shall see if they be friend or foe. Until then they be prisoners.”

  The man spun away.

  Hildr turned back to them. “Please leave your weapons and follow me.”

  Barami nodded to Caerwyn who relinquished her sword and shield. Volf dropped his sword.

  Volf whispered something to Caer, but Barami was too far away to hear it. She shook her head and responded with a hushed. “Wait for now.”

  Volf nodded.

  They were all led back to the hall Barami and Jais had been in before. Jais didn’t join them for some time. Despite it being late, none of them slept.

  They huddled together on the platform as guards stood vigilant nearby.

  “Trial?” Caerwyn asked in a whisper. “Do you know what this is?”

  Barami shook his head. “First I’ve heard of it.”

  “Great,” Volf said with a heavy sigh. “It could be anything.”

  Barami agreed. He’d heard of people ‘testing’ for drahksan abilities when he was a child. They would throw the suspected person into a lake and if they drowned they were innocent, or burn them at the stake and if the gods kept the fire from them then they must be pure. It was barbaric and ill-conceived. He desperately hoped the trials here weren’t as… deadly.

  Jais joined them a while later, covered in grime and blood and looking exhausted.

  He said simply, “We saved as many as we could.” Then he collapsed and was soon sleeping. He didn’t know about the trial.

  Dawn came and Barami, Caerwyn, and Volf had slept little. Jais had slept, but still looked drained and tired when he woke. When told of the trial, Jais just nodded.

  Barami had not slept at all and was bone-weary. He was too old to be missing sleep. But there would be no chance to rest now. They had been summoned.

  They emerged into the light of day only the find the small village still smoking. One of the longhouses was half destroyed by fire and many others were burned along the side facing the inner square. The one which had taken the most damage was in the process of being torn down. It seemed the villagers would rebuild it from the ground up.

  A pyre was being built in the middle of the large square. On it were far too many bodies, all bundled in white cloth. At a rough count, Barami estimated that roughly twenty were dead. Some of the forms were small… children.

  He could only shake his head at that.

  Jais beside him grunted. His voice was a little soft and hoarse with regret when he said, “We saved as many as we could. It wasn’t enough.”

  “Were there other healers?” Caer asked.

  Jais nodded. “Two others had the gift of healing. We all worked as fast as we could, but it wasn’t enough. Many were dead before we even got to the fight.”

  Hildr drew near. She was somber, stoic. She glanced at the pyre as she approached them but didn’t seem to want to acknowledge it.

  “This way,” she said and turned to lead them away.

  They were taken back to that same longhouse where the leaders lived. Once again Ba
rami stood in the long hall before Anubjorn’s area. Elria sat with her father looking as exhausted as Jais. Hildr took her place beside her father.

  Yet they’d been led before a wizened old man, who stood in the center of the house. It was he who addressed them.

  He began speaking, but it was in the Dronnegir tongue. A man of middle years next to him translated:

  “In the ancient times, before lands and waters, there was only Mihonir and Helnir.”

  The names were similar enough that Barami recognized them. This was a creation story, or a tale based on the gods. Mihr and Holn were the names for them in the Northern tongue. He listened intently to understand what would be happening to them.

  “The undying fire of Mihonir summoned forth lands and waters and the eternal darkness of Helnir be trapped away within Komir.”

  This was the same creation story he’d learned growing up.

  “Komii, the waves, and Komir, the mountains made the world. After, Mihonir was so tired from sealing away the darkness, that he still had to relinquish his light to night, every day. Then came the creators, Suurn, Ylva, and Sova. Together these three created the Aedir, the ten greater beings. One of these be the guardian of the North, of ice and snow, Nosunir master of reason.”

  The names were all slightly changed, but the story was the same. Though why the elderly man was picking out Nosul, Barami didn’t know.

  “In the times of our ancestors, Steinn, a man of great courage and wisdom, sought Nosunir for his wisdom. This man had had three sons, but one had been killed. He feared one of his other sons had done the deed, but both of his remaining sons had denied it. So Steinn went to Nosunir. He pleaded with the god for a way to discern the truth, so that he might know which of his sons was a killer. Nosunir listened and told Steinn that the secrets of all men lay deep in darkness, as it be with Helnir. The only way to bring the truth to light would be to drag it up from the darkness. This would not be an easy thing. It might be painful. He asked Stein if he be willing to put his sons through such pain to know the truth. Steinn said yes, for he knew the righteous son would endure such pain to have the truth brought to light and the offender to justice.”

  The wizened old man pulled a chain out from under his shirt. It was of heavy links of iron and couldn’t have been comfortable to wear. At the end of it was an amulet marked with a swirling sigil which was known throughout the world as the sign for Nosul, God of the North Winds.

  Barami felt a shiver run down his spine as the man and his translator finished their tale.

  “So Steinn was given this. The Talisman of Truth. With it, Steinn returned and placed it on the forehead of his sons and sought the truth from them. So as it was done in the ancient time, so let it be done now!”

  Barami watched as the old man stepped toward Jais, the medallion in his raised hand.

  To the young man’s credit, he stood firm. He even looked calm as the aged man pressed the metal to Jais’ forehead.

  Then Jais let out a feral scream, eyes going wide as the amulet began to glow.

  18

  Gosse’s heart pounded a frantic cadence, straining to get out of his chest. This was all so very wrong. He had made a grave mistake!

  Tyark bore down on him, gaze burning with rage.

  “Why didn’t you tell me we were hunting drahksani!” the man hissed, his fury a near palpable thing. The tall, thin man radiated a great heat.

  Gods!

  Just remembering what the man had done in that village nearly made Gosse sick. He’d been hunting his entire life and knew well the carnage of battle, but what that fire had done to people. It was horrible

  The wanton carnage the man had wreaked had shocked even Gosse, and he did not shock easily.

  He’d known there would be casualties. If they wanted to get the drahksani, then some of the others with them would need to die. Killing those at the river getting water had been a necessity to avoid any alarm. He had assumed they would get to the village and call out the drahksani. Yet when they had arrived, Tyark had started throwing fire like a man possessed, eyes alight with a gleeful madness.

  “I…” What could he say? That he was a dragon hunter? It was clear to him now that Tyark was a drahksan; most likely Gerhardt was as well. He should be fighting them… but he was too terrified. He needed space to plan. He needed to get away from these men.

  “Are you a dragon hunter?”

  It seemed the man wasn’t an idiot. Gosse had to think quickly.

  “No. Just a bounty hunter from the South. Those two, they are traitors down there. I sought only to bring them to justice. I didn’t know they were drahksani!” He hoped with a dire desperation that Tyark believed him. The man looked like he wanted to roast Gosse. Gerhardt looked like he’d like to rip off a piece of roasted Gosse and eat it.

  Tyark spun away, his every movement agitated and frenetic.

  Thank all the gods, it looked like the man believed him.

  He looked about for an escape or an ally, but he found little of use. Their three other companions had not fared well in the fight. Dathgar was alive but nursing a wounded leg. He wouldn’t be moving far or fast any time soon. The sell-sword sat propped up by a tree. His leg was bandaged, and he was resting for the moment. The tall one, Regi, was unconscious and probably wouldn’t wake up. He’d taken a few too many wounds in the fight and despite all the bandages on him was still losing too much blood. The last of their party, Magnor was, outright dead. He’d been dead before they’d mysteriously been transported to this clearing.

  This is where they’d camped a couple days prior. It was just outside of the Dronnegir’s territory and thus would be safe enough for now. Though Gosse didn’t think he’d be safe anywhere near these men. Tyark was clearly a lunatic with incredible powers, and Gerhardt always looked like he was going to eat someone.

  Gosse had come to trust his gut in all things, but he didn’t know how he’d gone so wrong with this group. How did he not know these two were drahksani? He’d felt something when he’d met them, but not the ‘knowing’ in his gut he felt when he was around Caerwyn or the others he’d faced.

  Oddly, he felt that ‘knowing’ now.

  Sometime during the fight, he’d felt it and had nearly missed blocking a strike.

  “It sickens me,” Tyark said spitting out his words. “The very thought of dragon hunters… killing their own kind.”

  Their own kind?

  “Dragon hunters aren’t drahksan,” Gosse said reflexively. That thought was appalling.

  Tyark spun on him, brow lowered in suspicion. “Why would you say that? Of course they are! That’s why I suspected you might be. You’ve got the right feel. What are you, half drahksan?”

  Gosse’s eyes went wide.

  “What? No!”

  Tyark’s suspicion turned to confusion. “You don’t feel like a full-blooded drahksan to me, and you haven’t shown signs of any significant ability other than battle prowess.”

  “That’s because I’m not a drahksan.”

  Tyark laughed a high-pitched and slightly crazy sound. “Of course you are, at least in part. I can feel it. Can’t you feel me?”

  Feel…?

  Gosse’s eyes went wide.

  He could feel Tyark and Gerhardt. There was a definite pull, that ‘knowing’ that he felt. He certainly didn’t feel anything like that for Dathgar or the others.

  Oh gods! “No!”

  Tyark’s suspicion returned. “You are, aren’t you? You’re dragon hunter scum!”

  Gosse’s heart raced, beating even faster, if that was possible.

  “No!”

  Tyark scowled, unconvinced.

  “I’m a bounty hunter from the South, I swear. Of course I’m part drahksan.” The words burned his mouth to say.

  Oh gods! What was he? He’d always thought… he’d been taught from childhood that drahksan were evil, that they all needed to be hunted down and killed. He couldn’t be one. Could he?

  And yet…

&
nbsp; It explained a lot if he was. He’d been told that dragon hunters needed to be exceptional in all ways to be able to defeat a drahksan, but in truth how could any normal human beat one with such abilities? It made sense that he’d need to be at least partially drahksani to be able to go toe-to-toe with one. But why… why hadn’t anyone ever told him?

  The question practically answered itself. If he was going to create a force to slaughter the enhanced drahksani, he’d not tell them they’d been created from the same stock. That must have been either a carefully guarded secret or one long forgotten.

  Which meant…

  He. Was. Drahksan.

  Oh, by Suur! No, it still didn’t sit right as much as it made sense now.

  Far too much sense.

  It was why he’d always known where his prey was. He’d assumed it was his superior tracking ability, but it was clear now. There had been far too many times in the past when his tracking had failed him and he’d… guessed where to go. Guesses that had always been right. His gut’s ‘knowing’ wasn’t his gut at all, but a drahksan ability to sense others of his kind.

  Then there was his age. He’d been hunting dragonborn for fifty years. Yet he was still strong and spritely with barely a wisp of gray in his hair. Drahksani aged slower than humans. He’d always attributed his lack of aging to his strict exercise regimen, but now he knew that wasn’t the case.

  Oh, by all the gods!

  But then…

  “Why didn’t I sense you when I first met you?” he asked suddenly, not sure what had emboldened him.

  Tyark scoffed. “I was masking my nature, and that of Gerhardt. It was a trick my father taught me, not long before a dragon hunter killed him.”

  “You can do that?”

  Tyark drew himself up to his full spindly height. “Only the most powerful of drahksan can, yes.”

  That explained it.

  “Just as only I can sense what you are,” Tyark said with a sneer. “You must be only a quarter drahksan, or a mixed blood, perhaps. I can sense you, but I doubt if any normal drahksan could.”